'the nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind'

Brian Wilson haunts my dreams

Something is seriously wrong with me, and much as I try to play it cool, one of my coworkers is on to me.
We’re sitting in a row at a laminate counter, our computers and phones side-by-side – no cubicles. And it’s so dark. Why are there no overhead lights?
I feel like I’m drunk. No, not drunk: drugged. I keep moving in slow motion. The cord to my mouse keeps getting tangled and I can’t maneuver it to click where I need to go. Not that I remember where to click next. I keep making rookie mistakes. No, not rookie mistakes; they are the mistakes of some sort of crazy, drugged person.
My hand slides along the mouse and it jerks forward; I click a button that makes everything I had up on my screen disappear. I quickly press the button on my phone that makes it not ring – I can’t be taking calls if I have no programs up! I am panicking. One of the housekeepers is watching me at a distance. She, too, seems to think something is very wrong with me. I call out for my coworker for help. He leans over, presses one button, and everything is back. He probably asks if I am okay. Because, as I said before, I’m acting like I just swallowed a fistful of Xanax.
I go back to my last call. Seems I forgot to ask several Very Important Questions – I am embarrassed because I’m sitting so close to everyone else. I try to call the person back. Only I’m whispering this time, because I don’t want everyone to know what I’m doing. Because hunching over the phone and whispering into it isn’t suspicious at all.

Realizing that I look super-shady, I explain myself to a coworker who didn’t ask for an explanation. Then, in some sort of paranoid fit, I somehow pick up my computer, my phone, everything, and move down the hall and around the corner. Then it becomes more clear that I am working in…a shopping mall? Because now I am in a more well-lit corridor, my computer and phone on the floor outside an open store. There, I see the same housekeeper as before. I go up to introduce myself, because apparently now I am back in my old job, and she is going to be the new lead for my building. She does not shake hands, because she says they are dirty, but she is eyeing mine – they are equally filthy.

Time skips around and then I am taking a phone call. The caller tells me that he is going to pull some sort of prank / grand gesture at his college and he needs to get his satellite radio out of his car. The prank involves climbing on the roof of a building and playing the 60s station on his radio – which is locked in his car.

Feeling helpful, I decide that I’ll just sing some 60s music to him instead. And this is what I sang: